


One Black Coffee

by Katieee



Series: Shepard meets Thedas [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katieee/pseuds/Katieee
Summary: Cullen doesn't know the first thing about coffee, but his local barista seems determined to change that. He's happy to go along with whatever she says — even if he suspects she's spelling his name on his cup wrong on purpose.A coffee shop AU featuring two Commanders at peak stupidity. Rated M for Shepard's singular ability to lower the tone.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Shepard (Mass Effect), Cullen Rutherford/Original Character(s)
Series: Shepard meets Thedas [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/972858
Comments: 25
Kudos: 48





	One Black Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> I've had the idea for a coffee shop AU batting around in my brain for a while now, based solely on one (1) joke about Shepard misspelling Cullen's name -- so here it is, about three years after it was requested! Enjoy!
> 
> (Reading of [The Two Commanders](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10052990/chapters/22399619) is in no way required for Two Idiots In A Coffee Shop AU)

Cullen squinted at the blackboard behind the counter, struggling to make sense of the menu. When the Iron Bull had suggested grabbing coffee outside of the office Cullen had been hesitant, keen to continue his work at his desk, but for the sake of getting to know his new colleagues he had relented. He now regretted that decision. The artisan coffee shop across the street was too small and too loud, the haze of chatter making it difficult for him to think and the rich aromas invading his senses, and he longed to be back at his desk with a simple, pronounceable cup of tea.

“Great, she’s got her Antivan flatbread in again,” Bull said, inspecting the glass cabinet full of cakes and muffins with great interest. “Made your mind up yet?”

Cullen glanced at the indecipherable list of coffees once more before shrugging his shoulders. “I think I shall just have something back at the office.”

“Something wrong?”

“No,” Cullen said. “My choice in coffee is just generally less…”

Bull smirked at him. “Interesting?”

“Pretentious.”

“Hi!”

The sudden bright voice behind him made him jump, and his heart sank as he swivelled around to find one of the shop’s employees behind him: a small redhead in a coffee-stained apron and a name badge which simply read _Shepard_. Her eyes bore into him, one eyebrow arched as she regarded him with a mixture of annoyance and amusement, and in any other circumstance he might have been impressed by her ability to intimidate with just a look; as it was, he only hoped she wasn’t about to put salt in his coffee.

“Shepard’s House of Pretentious Coffee,” she said, stepping behind the counter and fixing him with a smile which didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How may I help?”

“Ah — forgive me,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt the telltale prickle of embarrassment flushing his cheeks. “I did not intend—”

“Of course not; that would have been rude.” She turned to Bull, her smile softening into a more genuine one. “Hey, Bull. Who’s your friend?”

“Shep, this is Cullen,” Bull grinned back at her, clearly amused by the situation. “He’s our new city editor. Cullen, Shepard.”

“And what can I get you?”

Cullen took one final look at the menu above her head before resigning himself to being undoubtedly her most boring customer all day. “One black coffee, please. To go.”

“Sure. Anything specific?”

“How specific can you get with a black coffee?”

He meant it as a genuine question but it came out derisive and flippant, and she shot Bull a look of clear chastisement for daring to bring such a philistine into the shop. “One black coffee, then. Bull? The usual?”

Bull nodded. “And some of that flatbread.”

They moved to the side as a new stream of customers entered, most of whom he recognised from the office, and though Bull chatted idly to him Cullen found his attention instead drawn to Shepard. She set about brewing their coffee quickly and efficiently, humming a half-tune to herself as she worked, the broad smile and easy manner she offered each new customer far warmer than it had been towards him — and he fleetingly wished he hadn’t been so _him_ , so that he might have seen that smile properly for himself. Still, she was pleasant enough when she handed their drinks over, and his coffee tasted good, the perfect mix of bitter and sharp; he almost considered ordering a cake to go with it, but restrained himself, figuring he’d annoyed the woman enough already.

It wasn’t until he was outside and walking back towards their offices that he glanced at the side of his cup, and saw the name she’d scrawled there.

“I think I upset her.”

“Who, Shep?“ Bull asked, taking a sip of his coffee. Cullen nodded. “Nah. She’s got thick skin.”

“She wrote ‘Colon’ on my cup.”

Bull snorted with amusement as Cullen held out his cup as proof. “Well, she also likes a bit of conflict.”

Cullen groaned as the prickle of embarrassment rushed back to him, this time for the impression he’d created with his new colleague. “ _Maker’s breath_ ,” he said, taking a long gulp of his drink in the hope it would hide the colour his cheeks were turning.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bull told him, chuckling as he clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s plenty of coffee in the staff room.”

\---

Cullen’s mornings started earlier than most. He left his flat each day before the trickle of commuters could give rise to the full stream, the tubes quiet save for the rattle of the rails, just he and a handful of bleary-eyed businesspeople committed to such a routine. He’d intended to head straight to the office as usual, giving him a few solid hours to work before the noise and bustle descended, but as he passed the little coffee shop on the final stretch he felt compelled to go inside.

Because _Shepard’s_ was the name of the shop. He groaned as his eyes landed on the name, not having realised he’d insulted the owner the previous day and feeling even more foolish for it. It would only be a matter of time before he’d be cajoled into going again, either by Bull or someone else in the office, and so he figured he might as well get it out of the way — and, he hoped, if he apologised now maybe it wouldn’t be so uncomfortable later.

And besides, he could do with a cup of coffee.

Despite the early hour he wasn’t alone in the shop, though it was far calmer, the muted conversations of tired workers cut across by the clanging of spoons against mugs. Shepard however appeared fresh faced, seemingly deep in thought as she arranged the day’s pastries in the cabinet. 

He hadn’t noticed on their first meeting just how pretty she was. Now, as he hesitated by the cash register and hoped she’d spot him there, it was hard to think of anything else — hard not to be taken in by her wide brown eyes, and the crimson hair carefully weaved into a braid, and the charming splash of freckles across her cheeks. He supposed he’d been too distracted by his own tactlessness before to pay such things any mind, but he wasn’t sure being distracted in this way was better.

At length she glanced in his direction, her look of surprise quickly shifting to a more neutral one. “Hi,” she said, giving him a wan smile as she moved behind the counter. “Black coffee again?”

“You remembered.”

Her smile widened a fraction. “It’s not a hard one.”

He cringed internally as she started on his order, because of _course_ she remembered the man who’d insulted her business and his boring black coffee. “I wanted to apologise for what I said yesterday,” he blurted out. “I was being…”

“Pompous?” she suggested. “Ignorant? A pain in the ass?”

He frowned at her, his remorse flickering. “Are you like this to all your customers?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised anyone comes back.” She smiled at him again, but it was a different one this time, a mischievous grin which invited him in as a co-conspirator, and he just couldn’t help but return it. “Don’t worry about it; I’ll take it as a challenge. I’ll have you ordering little cinnamon sticks in your coffee before the year is out.”

He scoffed before he could catch the impulse. “I highly doubt that.”

“Are you like this to everyone in the service industry?”

He was about to apologise for a second time, cursing himself for his immediate return to boorishness — but then he caught the mirth in her eyes, and how she’d reflected his question back at him, and he hoped he could say something she’d appreciate more. “Yes. I’m surprised anywhere lets me in.”

She grinned again, with a soft laugh this time, her demeanour relaxing further as she returned her attention to his drink. “So — city editor, huh? Where did you work before?”

He was briefly surprised that she’d remembered such a trivial detail, but recovered himself quickly. “Uh— freelance, mainly. I’ve been looking for a permanent post for some time.”

“That’s a step up.”

“I know,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fortunately Mr Trevelyan was willing to give me a chance.”

“Marcus is a good guy,” she said, an unmistakable fondness in her tone now. “You know, for a twelve year old who’s somehow running an entire newspaper.”

“I am sure he’s older than he looks,” Cullen chuckled. “How do you know him?”

“Your building is half my customer base,” she said with a shrug. “If your paper ever goes out of business then so will I. Pastry?”

“Uh— yes. Maybe.” He didn’t want a pastry, for he rarely ever ate breakfast, but he answered without thinking, struck by a ridiculous urge to keep talking to her. “I suppose that’s also how you know the Iron Bull?” he asked as he inspected the selection she’d laid out in the cabinet.

“No, actually. We go to the same gym. He’s my boxing partner.”

He looked up at her, eyeing her critically now, unsure how or why a woman a head shorter than him had teamed up with a Qunari who towered over them both. “That seems a little… mismatched.”

“You don’t think I can take him?” she said, arching an eyebrow at him as though daring him to contradict her. He held his hands up in surrender, not wanting to return to her bad books — or find out whether she could take _him_ too.

“I just meant you are clearly in different weight categories.”

“You sound just like our instructor. He’s also a pain in the ass.”

He let out a snort of laughter, an unexpected and completely undignified sound he would have been embarrassed about if only she hadn’t smiled in return, and _why_ he was amused by this woman’s oddly cheerful insults was beyond him. “Oi! Jar!” a voice interrupted them, and he pulled his attention away from Shepard to find an elf with a haphazard haircut roughly pushing a tray of mugs onto the counter. “Twice. Don’t think I didn’t hear you before.”

“Ass doesn’t count.”

“Does too. And does three.” Shepard cursed again as she pulled a handful of coins from her pocket, shoving them into a half-filled jar on the counter labelled _tips/swears_. “Four,” the elf told her, and with a groan she threw another coin in. “And when you’re done flirting, you said you’d help with the tables.”

“I forgot you ran the place,” Shepard grumbled, but the elf merely blew a raspberry at her before returning to her work. “Give me a shout when you’ve picked,” she told him. “The cannoli are great.”

She left him then, alone save for the strange fluttering in his chest which had erupted at the word _flirting_ , and it became painfully obvious why he was browsing pastries and laughing so obnoxiously. He had a crush on her. How utterly predictable.

And she’d written _Colon_ on his cup again.

\---

He returned several times a week after that, either by himself in the mornings or with a colleague who’d pestered him into lunch, though in truth he didn’t need much persuading — for the coffee was good, and Shepard’s warm smile each time she greeted him was better. It was a frivolous, pointless crush, yet one he was content to indulge in, taking pleasure from their small snippets of conversation each day without expecting anything more. She continued to get his name wrong, and he wasn’t sure whether she actually thought his name was Colon or if she was just trying to wind him up; he’d almost corrected her, once, before her fingers had brushed his as she’d handed him his drink, and his ability to form sentences had fallen straight from his mind.

The elf, Sera, he suspected knew of his infatuation, for each time he entered the shop she rolled her eyes and muttered something he couldn’t quite catch to Shepard, and it might have scared him off if Shepard didn’t seem to brush off whatever she’d said with ease. The rest of her staff were nicer to him, though variable in their ability to manage the place; the queues were twice as long when an elf from Antiva was serving, and it was rowdier when the man everyone addressed as ‘Hawke’ was around, and the Krogan she’d employed for the grand total of a week had turned the area behind the counter into a war zone. Yet he found himself growing to like the chaos of the place, sometimes even staying to drink his coffee inside — and the fact that Shepard would chat longer with him when he did so was only part of the reason for that.

A month had gone by at his new job before he knew it, and Bull insisted on going out for lunch to mark the occasion; Cullen agreed with very little protest, knowing by now that _lunch_ only ever referred to one place. Shepard’s was busier than usual, and it took several minutes for them to reach the front of the queue, though Shepard herself looked unfazed by the bustle, greeting them both with the same, beautiful smile she always wore.

“Back already?” she said to Cullen, who’d already picked up a coffee that morning. “It must be my lucky day.” She often spoke to him like this, with casual comments somewhere between mockery and flirtation, and she meant nothing by them but his stomach still did a ridiculous flip in response every time. “You boys staying in?”

“Yeah,” Bull said. “Usual for me, Shep. And—”

“The flatbread; I know. How about you? Same again?”

Cullen hesitated, torn between his stubbornness and the curiosity he’d been surprised to discover in himself, before resigning himself to the choice he’d been considering for a week. Even though he knew he’d get teased for it. “Actually, I was— I thought I might like to try something else.”

Shepard’s face lit up as she broke into the broadest grin he’d ever seen her wear, leaning on the counter and propping her chin on her hands. “I knew I’d get you,” she said, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him. “Go on then. What’ll it be?”

“I— uh—” he floundered, having planned up to this part but never being able to settle on a choice in his mind. “What would you recommend?”

“I don’t think you and me have the same taste, Mr One Black Coffee,” she told him, which was a better name than Colon but which still made heat prickle at the back of his neck. “But if it were me, I’d go for a caramel macchiato.”

“Ah. That may be a little…” he trailed off before he said the word ‘sickly’, but the roll of her eyes told him she knew where his sentence had been going.

“I’ll make you a vanilla latte, then. That’s pretty much you in drink form.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why do I feel like you’re insulting me through the medium of coffee?”

She gasped, putting her hand over her chest in mock hurt. “How could you think I would do such a thing? To my valued customers?” He was on the verge of pointing out her persistent misspelling of his name, but then she winked at him and he all but forgot what his name was; instead he descended into awkward silence as she made their drinks, all the while growing increasingly annoyed at Bull’s easy banter with her. 

The pair made their way over to a free table by the window, and it was only when they were seated that Cullen registered Bull’s smug expression. “What?”

“You’re into her.”

“Wha— _no_ ,” Cullen said. “Why would you think— I barely know her, and she doesn’t— I wouldn’t even—”

“Sure,” Bull cut off his increasingly inarticulate protests with a knowing smile. “Nice sprinkles.” He said it as though agreeing to chocolate sprinkles was an egregious declaration of love, and Cullen glared at his coffee, mentally making a note never to accept Bull’s offer of lunch again. “She’s single, by the way. And fun. You should ask her out.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Do you harass all of your colleagues like this?” Bull merely scoffed, leaning back in his chair as he began to eat his flatbread, and Cullen knew for his own sake he should drop the subject but there was still one thing on his mind. “She keeps spelling my name… poorly,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing as he said it. “Could tell her that I’m not actually named after the large intestine?”

“Nah,” he grinned at him. “You’ll have to tell her that yourself.” 

“ _Maker’s breath_.” 

He took a sip of his coffee, surprised first by its sweetness and second by the fact he didn’t hate it, and his gaze involuntarily drifted back to Shepard; she’d started serving someone else but caught his eyes even so, her expression curious as she mouthed _good?_ at him.

 _Good_ , he mouthed back, which was perhaps overstating it, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else.

 _Good_ , she repeated, her smile lighting up her features once more, and his heart fluttered in his chest in response. 

Maker, but it was a beautiful smile.

He shook his head to clear it from the absurd hopes which itched at the corners of his mind, taking another sip of his drink and determinedly avoiding Bull’s gaze. Perhaps it was time for him to start making coffee at home.

\---

Cullen’s resolve to visit Shepard’s less lasted until 7 a.m. the following morning. During the final stretch of his commute he found his feet leading him into her shop of their own volition, and he would have been annoyed with himself if only he hadn’t been greeted with _that_ smile.

“Morning!” Shepard called out as he entered. “So, have I converted you? Another latte?”

He’d made it halfway through his latte before it became too sweet for him, but he finished it regardless, not wanting to leave a half-finished mug behind. Still, he didn’t like her _quite_ enough to keep ordering it. “Ah— no,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for the time being.”

“Really? Are you really going to break my heart like that?” He simultaneously wished she’d say more and less things like that, equally flustered and captivated by her casual flirtation, and it was that exact reason why he ought to spend less time around her. “Go on then, enlighten me: what didn’t you like about it?”

“I— will you be offended?”

“Depends if it’s the coffee or how I made it.”

“Well, I— the vanilla was a bit strong. And there was too much milk; I could barely taste the coffee.”

“So you actually _like_ black coffee?” she asked. “Rather than you have no fu—uh, no clue what the others are?”

He chuckled at her last-minute recovery, eyeing the tip-slash-swear jar which grew fuller with each passing day. He couldn’t be certain what or who contributed the most to it, but from Hawke and Sera’s constant screeches of ‘jar!’ across the shop floor he had a fairly good idea. “It may be a bit of both,” he admitted.

She considered him for a long moment, seemingly deep in thought with her lips pursed and brow slightly furrowed, and he feared she was about to denounce him as a lost cause. “Alright,” she said just as the silence began to grow uncomfortable. “I know what we’ll do. I’ll give you your black coffee, but I get to experiment with different beans.”

“I like the ones you’ve been using.”

“Oh really?” she arched an eyebrow at him. “Which ones are they?”

“I…” he trailed off immediately, because of _course_ he had no idea about the beans — and she knew it too, the corner of her mouth quirking up in amusement as he struggled not to seem a total fool. “The ones on the left?” he guessed, glancing at the large jars behind her. 

“Nice try,” she told him. “I’ll figure out your roast first, then I’ll move onto the blends. But you’ll have to pay attention to what they actually taste like.”

“This sounds a lot like homework. I don’t think I signed up for this.”

“Well, too bad — I’m bored, and you’re cute when you make your little frowny face into your drink.” He somehow managed to choke on the air he was breathing, letting out an inelegant splutter as she broke into an impish grin, and he was now certain she was saying these things to solely to fluster him; he did his best to glare at her, yet that only seemed to spur him on. “That’s the one. Absolutely adorable.”

“ _Maker’s breath_ ,” he grumbled, sure his whole face was bright red by this point. “I am going to stop coming here.”

“No you aren’t.”

He was going to protest, but he noticed for the first time a hint of blush creeping up her neck, and the way she idly fiddled with a loose strand of her hair — and, for a brief moment, he wondered if maybe her flirtation wasn’t malevolent after all. “No,” he agreed. “I’m not.”

She held his gaze for a fraction too long before breaking it, turning from him as she began to prepare his order, and for one flash of insanity he considered taking Bull’s advice after all. An offer of food outside her place of work was hardly a great commitment, and if the worst came to it he’d just have to avoid her, or perhaps relocate—

“So, how’s work coming along?”

She spoke before him, addressing him over her shoulder in her usual easy tone as she continued to work, and he winced internally as his chance firmly passed him by. But perhaps that was for the best. “Uh— good. Thank you.”

“I read your article the other day. About the new housing policies in Lowtown.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised — and more than a little pleased — that she’d gone to the effort. “What did you think?”

“I think you could’ve thrown in a few jokes.”

“It _is_ a notoriously humorous subject.”

She chuckled, a soft sound that shot a renewed burst of affection through his chest, and how was it possible that he could be so enthralled by simply a laugh? “I actually found it interesting,” she told him. “And it was nice to hear about something good happening. Even if it sounds like it’ll take ages.” She turned back to him as she snapped the lid on his cup, scrawling his name — incorrectly, as always — on the side before he could make any sort of correction. “You’ve got a light roast today. It might not be… coffee-y enough for you, but you have to start somewhere.”

He smirked, unable to resist teasing her just this once. “Is that the technical term?”

“It’s the term I use for the dumbasses who can’t decipher the menu.”

His smirk widened. “Jar.”

She swore again, far more colourfully this time, thrusting a handful of coins into the pot before handing over his drink. He handed over his money in turn, but he hesitated on the spot before leaving, struck once more by that ridiculous urge to keep talking to her. “Thank you,” he said. “I — uh — I shall let know what I think the next time I come in.” 

It sounded weak even to his ears, but to his surprise she didn’t seem to mind. “Don’t leave me waiting too long,” she told him, fixing him with a devastating smile.

He had to leave then, because if he stayed she was going to see him turn bright red again, and as he stepped into the sun and glanced at her scrawl on his cup he realised two things. First, that if she’d read his article, then she knew very well how to spell Cullen. And second, that he was completely and hopelessly enamoured with her.

\---

The light roast was, as Shepard had predicted, not to Cullen’s taste, but he found the medium far more appealing; emboldened by her success she began experimenting with different blends, and Cullen looked forward to discovering what she had to offer each day. And he looked forward to seeing her, too. She laughed with him over the concoctions he’d hated, and teased him whenever he gave a particularly inept description of a blend, and she smiled at him, as always, with a sincere _see you soon_ when he left.

He wasn’t foolish enough to presume that she treated him alone like this, or that it was anything other than a way for her to pass the time — and he knew, deep down, that how he felt would only cause him heartache in the end. Because it wasn’t just her smile, or laugh, or her beautiful, endless eyes; it was _her_ , her very energy drawing him in with each word and action, and now he’d seen her he couldn’t bear to look away. And so he continued, with vague reassurances to himself that it remained simply a crush, despite knowing that to long be untrue.

He tried his best to avoid lunch with Bull, for he was invariably insufferable each time they set foot in Shepard’s, but there were some days he couldn’t escape it. On this particular one he’d roped Mr Trevelyan into his persuasion; not wanting to disappoint him, he dutifully followed them across the street and into the shop, hoping that Bull wouldn’t mock him too much in front of their boss.

Mercifully, Bull’s attention was distracted by the distinct lack of flatbreads on display, giving Cullen room to discuss his current projects with Trevelyan as he tried not to look at Shepard too often. Which, of course, he failed in. She’d styled her hair differently for once, her crimson hair free from its usual braid and instead piled into a messy bun, and whenever she turned the loose strands at her neck shone copper in the sunlight, drawing his attention back to her each time.

He really should have turned down lunch.

“Hey, Shep,” Bull greeted her as they reached the counter. “Where’s—”

“Don’t start with me,” she warned him, which was not her usual way of greeting her customers, but Cullen sensed she’d had this discussion with Bull more than once before. “I told you I’m not getting it anymore.”

“But—”

“Bull, no-one else buys that bread. You’ll just have to have a panini like everybody else.”

Bull made a noise of disapproval in the back of his throat, frowning at her selection of sandwiches as he muttered something vaguely insulting about customer service. “I got in something new for you,” she turned her attention to Cullen. “It’s a bit nuttier than the blends you’ve been having; I think you’ll like it.”

He was sure she hadn’t bought in anything specifically for him, but it made warmth bloom in his chest all the same, and he didn’t even try to prevent the undoubtedly dopey smile which broke across his face. “I would like that.”

“I see how it is,” Bull grumbled. “You get _him_ fancy beans and my flatbread pays the price.”

“Yeah, well — he’s prettier than you are.” He didn’t even have time to react before she turned next to Trevelyan, which in a way was good, because he had no idea how to respond without stuttering like a fool. “Marcus?”

“Well, I like everything,” Trevelyan told her, offering her an amiable smile which she returned instantly.

“And that’s why you’re my favourite,” she replied, and Cullen tried his very best not to be irrationally jealous. “The usual, and…?”

“And…” he paused to consider the options in front of him. “The tuna melt, please.”

They waited patiently for their orders, Shepard chatting easily with them as they did, and when she handed Cullen his drink he rushed to hide the name she’d written on it from Trevelyan. Bull, however, seemed intent on ruining everyone’s day now his had been, and grinned malevolently at Cullen.

“Why are you holding your cup like that?”

Cullen glared at him as he took — what he intended to be — a nonchalant a sip of his drink. “I am not holding my cup like anything.”

“Yeah you are.”

“No, I’m _not_.”

“What are you— oh,” Trevelyan laughed, craning his neck to see the side of the cup Cullen was desperately trying to hide from him. “Shepard, you’ve—”

If he hadn’t been his boss, Cullen might have kicked him to shut him up, but it was Bull who put a hand on his shoulder to silence him. “Hold it. Cullen’ll tell her.”

“Tell me what?”

“Nothing,” was Cullen’s knee-jerk reply, but he regretted it instantly, knowing that he’d gone far too long without correcting her — and that if he didn’t do it now then his boss would likely never respect him. “It’s just— it’s Cullen. My name.”

“I know,” Shepard told him. “That’s what I’ve been writing. Colon.”

“Cullen.”

“Colon.”

“ _Cullen_.”

“Callum?”

Bull, whose shoulders had been shaking with silent laughter beside him, finally spoke at that, his voice full of barely-concealed glee. “Give it up, Shep. You lost.”

“You _cheated_ ,” she glared at him. “I’m not paying up.”

“I won’t make you pay if you get me my flatbread back.”

“Oh I’ll bring it back, but you’ll be fucking barred when I do.”

“Jar!” Hawke called out, pushing said jar towards her without even looking up from the drink he was making, and with two further curses Shepard threw a handful of coins in it.

“What’s going on here?” Cullen asked, realisation dawning on him as he took in Shepard’s decidedly shifty expression. “Did you bet that I wouldn’t—” he began, but his answer was clear in the way she looked everywhere except at him, and he felt as vindicated as he did embarrassed. “I _knew_ you were doing this deliberately!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she held her hands up in surrender. “I run a terribly unprofessional establishment, although you probably should have realised that by now. Your coffee’s on me by way of apology.”

“Make it dinner, and I might consider forgiving you.”

He had absolutely no idea where _that_ came from, the words leaving his mouth before he’d even started to think them, and he winced as the laughter in her eyes fell away. “I— forgive me,” he said, hurrying to backpedal before she banned him from her shop along with Bull. “That is— I shouldn’t— uh…”

But there was no outrage in her expression, only delight, and that faint blush he’d seen but a handful of times, and as his words faltered under her stare she filled the silence as always. “I close up at seven,” she told him. “I like that sushi place with the big fish tank.”

He blinked, once, as her words sank in, and he coughed to clear his suddenly-dry throat before replying. “I shall see you here at seven, then,” he told her in as level a voice as he could manage.

“See you then,” she grinned. “Cullen.”

He nodded to her and his colleagues before turning on his heel, keen to leave before she came to her senses, his heart beating a frantic tune as he strode back towards his office. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d done it, but somehow what he’d hoped for hadn’t been as impossible as he’d believed — and he might have thought he’d imagined it all, if it wasn’t for the cup of coffee grasped tightly in his hand.

He had a date with Shepard. And now he just had to figure out which sushi place she’d been talking about.

\---

“So,” Bull said as the three of them watched Cullen march out of the shop. “I guess he’s not having lunch with us.”

“I guess not,” Marcus agreed. “That escalated… bizarrely.”

“Yeah,” Shepard said, unable to contain her grin at the sight of him hurrying away — and she hated that Bull had won their bet, but at least she didn’t have to hold back now. She couldn’t very well have called him Colon on a date. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna fuck him.”

**Author's Note:**

> I occasionally write nonsense over [on my tumblr](https://agentkatie.tumblr.com/), so feel free to come and say hi!


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